From outside came the sounds of jet engines spooling up; lights at the Gulfstream’s wingtips began to flash, and a red beacon at the top of the tail began to rotate. The airplane began to move toward a taxiway.
“Lance,” Stone said, “where are Michel Chance and his gendarmes?”
“Asleep in their beds, I should think,” Lance replied.
The van stopped on a taxiway for a moment, then, with a very loud roar, the Gulfstream rolled past them down the runway and left the ground.
Stone was angry. “What the hell just happened?”
“What just happened,” Lance replied, “was that a solution to a very sticky problem was negotiated to the satisfaction of nearly everyone involved.”
Stone was flabbergasted.
“I think, Stone, that you and your business partners will not be hearing from or dealing with Yevgeny Majorov or his friends again, and they will make no attempt to enforce the agreement you signed. Oh, by the way, may I have that banker’s check for thirty million dollars that Jacques Chance gave you?”
Stone produced the check from an inside pocket and handed it to Lance, who deposited it in his own inside pocket. “There,” Lance said, making a dusting motion with his hands, “all done.” He smiled a little smile. “And we won’t be discussing these events again. With anyone, not even each other. A matter of national security, don’t you see?” Then he closed his eyes, sat back in his comfortable seat, and took another of his little naps.
—
STONE AND HOLLY were deposited back in the mews as the sun began to rise. There were no guards present at the gates or on the roof.
They went upstairs, undressed, and climbed back into bed.
“Can you tell me what happened out at Le Bourget?” Stone asked her.
“I should think it’s obvious,” Holly said. “Apparently, an accommodation was reached with Comrade Majorov.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Lance want an accommodation with Majorov?”
“Apparently, because it’s in Lance’s interest to do so. Apparently, it’s in your interest, too, since Majorov, apparently, won’t try to kill you anymore.”
“And no gendarmes showed up, so that wasn’t a real call that Lance made to Michel Chance?”
“Apparently not,” she replied.
“Why do you keep saying ‘apparently’?”
“Because all this is only speculation on my part,” Holly said. “But it makes sense, if Majorov is an asset of Lance’s—part-time, of course. Yevgeny does have a business to run. The good news is, he appears to be out of the hotel business.”
“If all Lance had to do to fix this was to call Majorov, why didn’t he call him a long time ago, instead of waiting until Majorov was trying to leave the country?”
“Apparently, because tonight he had leverage he didn’t have before. Majorov was desperate to leave the country, Lance had prevented that and he thought the gendarmes were on the way.”
“This is all too complicated for me.”
“That’s because your mind is not devious enough for intelligence work.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, sweetheart.” She leaned over and gently bit a nipple, and Stone’s thoughts of Majorov were replaced by other thoughts.
57
Stone was having a sandwich in the mews house the next day, while Holly attended yet another meeting at the CIA station, when his phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Ann.”
“I thought you were submerged in work, never to surface again.”
“Actually, that’s a pretty good description of what has happened to me over the past couple of weeks. When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow night is the grand opening of l’Arrington, and we’re going from that directly to the airport, so I’ll be home early the following morning. I’ll take a day to rest, then, on Election Day I’ll borrow a Mustang from Strategic Services and fly down to Washington. Can I give you a lift?”
“What time of day?”
“What time of day would you prefer?”
“Five-ish?”
“As long as the ‘ish’ doesn’t run too late. I believe we’re both expected for dinner at the White House family quarters—that, and a lot of TV, until we know the result.”
“Okay, pick me up at four sharp. I’ll have a car meet us at, where, Manassas?”
“Right. Given the traffic, I should think we’ll be there by seven.”
“Perfect.”
“How are things going?”
“We’ve been slightly ahead inside the margin of error on most polls. A couple have shown Honk creeping up, but I’m ignoring those.”
“So, you’re in a horse race, then?”
“I wish we weren’t, but we are. I keep expecting something explosive from Honk’s campaign, but it hasn’t happened yet, and if he’s going to pull something, he’s running out of time.”
“I hope there’s no chance of my name coming up again.”
“So do I. It was after the paternity rumors that the polls started getting tight. Your name will not pass my lips until the polls have closed on the West Coast, maybe Hawaii.”
“That’s just fine with me,” Stone said. “I hate getting phone calls from reporters.”
“You seem to have charmed the last one you talked to,” Ann said.
“Wasn’t I supposed to?”
“Well, yes, but I’m jealous anyway. Since the apology by and disappearance of Howard Axelrod, she’s been slyly complimentary about you to a couple of people I know, and the news reports following Axelrod’s exit from the scene have been good to you. Even the evening news shows have gone out of their way to point out that you and Kate were defamed, and Rush Limbaugh expressed regret that he didn’t have you to kick around anymore.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t around to hear all this,” Stone said. “It would have made me nervous.”
“What have you been doing with your time the last few days?”
“Oh, consulting with Marcel duBois on the grand opening, kibitzing with our board on last-minute details, that sort of thing.”
“No grand meals at expensive restaurants?”
“Nope, I’m lunching on a ham sandwich as we speak.”
“No company of gorgeous women?”
“Of course, every chance I get!”
“I knew that—you didn’t have to tell me. After all, I set you free, didn’t I?”
“Caged no more!”
She laughed. There was a noise from her end like a door opening, people talking, then the door closing again. “Hang on a minute, will you?”
“Sure.” Stone took another bite of his sandwich and tried to listen to the muffled conversation at the other end, which went on for three or four minutes.
“I’m back,” she said, “and this is not going to make you happy.”
“What isn’t going to make me happy?”
“A reporter just came in here and said he’d heard a rumor out of the CIA—that means he’s got a source inside—that the Agency has spent a lot of money protecting you from those Russians that hate you so much while you’ve been in Paris.”
“My goodness, am I supposed to be that important?”
“According to his source, Lance Cabot thinks you are.”
“I think I can say, without fear of contradiction, that any report of anything positive Lance Cabot has ever said about me would be grossly overblown and should be dismissed out of hand.”
“But you are a consultant to them, aren’t you?”
“I had a cousin, now deceased, who was a rival of Lance’s at the Agency, so I’ve had dealings there at widely separated intervals.”
“Nothing you can talk about, I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t talk about it, even if I could. The inconsequential nature of the me/Agency relationship would be an embarrassment. I’d rather people thought it was more important.”
“So I don’t have to worry about anything coming out of Honk’s campaign about you and Lance Cabot?”
“They can always make up something, I guess. I can’t stop them.”
“I pointed out to the reporter who was just in here that sullying your name backfired on them last time—resulting in the resignation of a high campaign official. I think he’ll print that.”
“Okay by me.”